


Whiskey River

by DustyDiamond



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7063165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyDiamond/pseuds/DustyDiamond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When things go south on a job Eliot rethinks his reasons for being a part of the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey River

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Christian Kane's Whiskey in Mind this is my first attempt at a post. Bear with me, forgive me if I mess up and help me if I do.

"As good a place as any," Eliot muttered as he turned the wheel to the right guiding the powerful Dodge Charger into the lot. He parked the car, got out and locked the door. As he walked up to the door of the bar he glanced up at the sign and the beginnings of a sardonic smile curled the corners of his lips. 'Whiskey River. Sounds like a place Nate would like.' That thought brought a sour taste to his mouth. He hurried inside and strode up to the bar. 

"What can I get you? The bartender asked. The tag on his shirt indicated his name was Carl. 

"Give me a...." He was about to order a Jameson on the rocks when but decided the last thing he needed tonight was an Irish Whiskey. "Jack on the rocks," Eliot finished opting for Jack Daniels Tennessee Whiskey instead. 

When Carl brought the glass over Eliot paid, along with a handsome tip. He then took his glass over to a table where, more out of habit than anything else, he positioned himself so that his back was to a wall and he could easily view the room and its occupants should he care to. Tonight all he cared about was trying to forget, trying not to think. Their last job turned into a nightmare for him. Nate got shot, again, and they almost lost Parker. Both of these things Eliot shouldered the blame for. When Sophie tried to console him he scowled at her. "Dammit Sophie, it's my job to keep everyone safe. Nate was shot, Parker has a broken leg and cracked ribs. Hardison's a mess 'cause she got hurt. Doesn't sound like I did a very good job now, does it?"

"We're all alive. I take that as a win," she had said as she laid a hand on his arm. He had shrugged her off, stormed out, got in his car and driven away. 

Now he sat alone, angry and hating himself in a bar with a glass of whiskey in front of him, thinking about getting so drunk he might forget, for a little while, who he was or the things he'd done. He folded his arms on the table then let his head drop forward onto them. He knew he wasn't a good man. He'd done too many things... had too much blood on his hands that would never wash away no matter what he did. There were way too many sins under his name. He carried that burden everywhere and had always known one day he'd have to pay for them. The thing was, after Victor Dubenich hooked him up with Nate, he felt like the black hat he'd been wearing was, if not white, at least a pale shade of grey. He'd even dared to hope that he had atoned for many of the sins he'd committed. That was until he saw Parker fall and heard the shot that took Nate down. "No redemption," he muttered as he lifted his head and took a good healthy swallow of the whiskey, enjoying the slow burn as it made it's way downward. He wondered if the team would be better off without him. They could find someone else to protect them. Someone who didn't have enough sins stacked up against them to have people hunting him and them down because of it. He had just about finished off the amber colored liquor and was swirling the small amount that was left with the ice in the glass when Carl walked up, another whiskey in hand.

"Service here is pretty good. I haven't even asked for that one yet," Eliot said as Carl set the glass on the table.

"This one's from the lady in the long black dress," Carl said before he walked back to the bar.

Eliot looked up in time to see her approach. As she came closer she removed the dark glasses that hid her arresting blue eyes. Reaching up she pulled the decorative chopstick from her hair and ebony waves came tumbling loose stopping midway down her back. "Anybody sitting here?" she asked indicating the chair next to him.

Her sultry voice voice slid over him like cool satin sheets on naked skin. Ever the gentleman, Eliot rose and pulled out the chair for her. Once she was seated he returned to his chair and lifted the glass of whiskey. "Thank you ma'am. Name's Roy Chappell. How'd you know my brand?" he asked. He didn't know or care what brand it was. He was simply making petty conversation.

She smiled and raised her own glass of whiskey to her lips. "There's certain things a woman knows about a man," she said simply.

He gave a half smile and nodded towards her drink. "Which do you prefer? The hard kick of old Kentucky Bourbon or the slow burn of Tennessee rye?" 

She slowly licked her lips. "How about you kiss me and find out for yourself?"

It was an invitation that was too good to resist. He leaned over, his hand slid under the silky black curtain of her hair and curled around her neck.

She shivered with excitement, correctly reading the lethal power of the man she had selected. 

As his lips met hers, Eliot allowed himself a moment to forget everything, his past, his present, his future, the latter being something he never thought too much about. She tasted, like a fine wine, no a smooth whiskey, a gourmet meal, she tasted like .....something he wanted more of. He groaned softly suddenly feeling like an inexperienced high school kid instead of the man who had been all over the world and had spent many nights in the arms of a beautiful woman. When the kiss ended he leaned back in his chair and smiled. "I didn't catch your name, darlin'."

"I didn't give it."

"A woman of mystery?"

She leaned towards him, Her hand landed lightly on his thigh and slid upwards. "I'm not looking for a life long commitment. One night with a special man is all I need. If you need to call me something darling will do."

Who was he to argue with a beautiful women? "Darlin' it is then." 

He had just finished speaking when a rowdy group entered the place. The way the bartender greeted them it was obvious that this was a bunch of regulars. "Place is like a morgue. Gimme some money for the jukebox Joey." This came from a petite brunette wearing a tight white scoop neck t-shirt that showed off her ample cleavage. He dark denim jeans were tucked into a pair of cowboy boots with a fancy design that Eliot would wager was hand tooled leather. She was a pretty thing but compared to the woman sitting with him the brunette didn't have a chance. In a matter of minutes Whiskey River was filled with country music that blared from the jukebox in the corner of the bar making it all but impossible to have a conversation. 

The woman with Eliot leaned over, her mouth so close to his ear he could feel the heat of her breath as it wafted over his skin. "Let's get out of here and go someplace quieter," she suggested.

Eliot nodded and drained the remains of the whiskey in his glass. He stood and pulled out her chair. As they walked to the door he placed his hand at the small of her back. Once outside she said, "There is a motel about a half mile down the road."

"Where's your car. I'll walk you to it then you can follow me."

"Or we could just take your car."

Taking his car meant she would stay with him at least until he brought her back to the bar to pick up her car. "Come on then," he said, his arm wrapping around her tiny waist.

It was a bit more than a half mile, closer to the full mile before Eliot pulled into the lot at The Chestnut Tree Inn. "I'll get us a room," he said as he parked near the office. He returned shortly with the key to room 37. They drove around to the back and parked the car closer to the entrance for that room. It wasn't long before they were inside, the door closed, the woman he'd just met sandwiching him between her body and the wall, her hands skimming his shoulders and arms, her lips sliding over his, nibbling and then demanding he give her what she wanted.

Eliot was not about to deny her. Not when he wanted it, needed it, as much as she seemed to. Their tongues danced a tango while her hands unbuttoned his shirt and shoved it off his shoulders. His hands circled around her back and lowered the zipper to her dress. It slid down her body and made an inky puddle at her feet, leaving her in standing there in a couple scraps of black lace. A low growl escaped Eliot's throat. He tightened his right arm around her waist and cupped her perfect backside with his left. She climbed his body allowing him to carry her to the bed where, fueled by lust and longing, they satisfied each other needs with reckless abandon. After laying there with her for several minutes, Eliot kissed her gently and rose from the bed. He padded off to the bathroom and was running a cloth under warm water when she joined him.

"Why did you leave me?" she asked from the doorway.

"I..." he turned and held up the cloth, " thought you'd like to be cleaned up."

"There are easier ways of doing that," she responded, staring pointedly at the shower.

Eliot nodded. "Right." He moved to leave her to her shower.

Her hand snaked out. Fingers circled his wrist. "Leaving me again? I thought you were going to clean me up."

"You want me.."

"In the shower with me? Yes." She took him by the hand. "Do you like it hot?" she asked as she reached for the faucet.

He bent down and placed a soft kiss at the small of her back. "How could it be anything else with you in there?" he murmured.

Slowly exploring areas they rushed over before, they took their time in the shower and then they took their time in the bed. When it was over, and they were both sated and cleaned he lay on his back with an arm thrown carelessly over his eyes listening to her even breaths as she slept. Some years back he had told the team he only slept ninety minutes a night. What he never told them was that military life as a sniper trained him to remain awake and then the guilt from the life afterwards would not let him sleep, not for long periods of time anyway. She mewled in her sleep and he smiled just before the yawn that parted his lips was rapidly followed by another and yet another until his even breathing joined hers as he succumbed to an uncomplicated deep sleep. 

Seven hours later night's curtain was just beginning to rise. The dark sky was slowly turning, soon the sun would make its appearance bringing with it another day. She rose, careful not to wake the man who had introduced himself as Roy Chappell and stood looking down on his sleeping form with a small, sad smile on her face. She was reluctant to leave but knew her time here was over. She dressed and was out the door quickly. She was several steps away then she turned back for one last look. "Rest well Eliot Spencer, you're a better man than you give yourself credit for. Your sins are forgiven. Go back to those who need you." The sun broke over the horizon and she was gone.

When Eliot woke the bed next to him was cold but there was a warmth in his heart that had not been there for a long time. He didn't question where his mystery woman went, he didn't need to. He drove round to the office and dropped off his key.

"Ready to move on?" the morning clerk asked.

"Ready to head back home. I'm kinda needed there," Eliot replied. He walked out the door, got in his car and went back to them, the Mastermind, Grifter, Hacker and Thief....his family.


End file.
